


Like the way I do

by inthebeginningtherewasM



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Compartmentalized AU, Evil Remix, F/M, I'm trying my hand at smut, also a plot, and pain, and smut yay, did I tell you about the smut yet, it's my first try, or the angst, there is angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 06:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18089429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthebeginningtherewasM/pseuds/inthebeginningtherewasM
Summary: "What are you trying to chase away, big guy?“, she says and her voice is deeper than expected, with a melodic tilt. Quite different form Melinda’s.„I try to stop chasing something I can never have“, Phil says with a sigh and it sounds dramatic but it’s true."Evil" remix of suallenparker'sCompartmentalized.





	Like the way I do

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Compartmentalized](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1850335) by [suallenparker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suallenparker/pseuds/suallenparker). 



> Hello, sweetpeas!
> 
> Do y’all know suallenparker’s [Compartmentalized?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1850335/chapters/4153242#workskin) It’s a brilliant piece of smut that is not only beautifully written but also gives you all the feelings. I felt madly inspired while reading it and Su said „Hey, if you want to write a remix, go for it.“ And I did. It’s my first piece of smut so I hope I do her work justice and that this isn’t a load of rubbish. It’s a one shot and easy to understand I think but still, maybe you should check out her story first. Don’t deny yourself the perfect smut. This is an "evil" remix of chapter 7. Oh, and be prepared for angst and pain. Don’t say I haven’t warned you. Cheers!

He wants to get shit drunk and forget, and if he is being honest that might be the only option he has.

Because if he doesn’t, he will be knocking on Melinda’s door and fall to his knees and beg in less than two minutes. He will ask her to let him kiss her again and he will ask her to let him touch her again and he might as well tell her he loves her and beg her to marry him too because he is stupid and he wants her. God, he wants her so much. He _loves_ her so much. And it is horrible and terrible and stupid. He is so tremendously stupid, he can’t get the image of her out of his head. How she looked down at him when she straddled him in that hotel bed. Soft. Tender. How she opened his shirt buttons with nimble fingers. How her lips felt on his, her tongue playing with his, her hands caressing him, stroking him. How she threw her head back when she came, her skin glistening with sweat, his hands on her hips as she rode him until they both fell apart. How she yelled his name, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. How she had felt wrapped up in his arms, soft and warm and perfect.

Suddenly his pants feel too tight and his breathing is labored, his fingers curled in the blanket on his bed and he tastes her name on his tongue. Phil sits up in his bunk and he knows, he _knows_ he has to get out. And quick.

 

There is a little town not too far from the Playground. He steals away like a thief in the night, measured steps, nods at the young agents that are in charge of security this night and who look at him with widened eyes. He leaves Lola behind and walks. It’s safer. He would never drive intoxicated and boy, he plans to drink until he doesn’t remember his name anymore. Until his heart isn’t so heavy anymore.

There is a bar in this little town, a decent pub that serves decent whisky and where all the business types come after work, still in suit and tie and even though it’s already after ten he knows he’ll fit right in. He sits down at the bar and drinks, two, three, four glasses until Melinda’s face in his head gets kind of blurry and he isn’t hundred percent sure how she smells like anymore or remembers the exact pattern she had traced on his back with her fingers the day before. He feels lighter. It doesn’t bother him at all when a stranger sits down on the stool next to him without asking. She looks at him, smiling. She has really pretty hair. Dark and lush and he wonders if it’s as soft as it looks. Her smile widens. Has he said that out loud? She doesn’t seem to mind.

„What are you trying to chase away, big guy?“, she says and her voice is deeper than expected, with a melodic tilt. Quite different form Melinda’s.

„I try to stop chasing something I can never have“, Phil says with a sigh and it sounds dramatic but it’s true. He can never have Melinda. She doesn’t love him. Oh, he knows that she cares, that he means a lot to her but she doesn’t l _ove_ him. He needs to get over it. The woman nods gravely as if she understands. It’s nice that somebody seems to understand.

„Maybe you should settle for something you can have“, she whispers and places her hand on his thigh, moving it up and down just so. Phil swallows. Maybe he should.

 

Her name is Melanie - „But you can call me Mel“ - and she is only in town for a few days for a medical conference. It’s perfect, really. She entertains him with anecdotes from the hospital she works at, tells him about her ex-husband while they are stumbling along the road, the cool night air making his thoughts a little bit less hazy but not clear enough to convince him that this isn’t a good idea.

He talks to her about how he works in „law enforcement“ and tells her that she is safe with him and scowls at a drunk that is catcalling them and he admits that he enjoys how Melanie is melting into his side and is giggling softly.

The hotel room she’s staying in is surprisingly big and has a minibar they take advantage of. They share a bottle of Jack Daniels - dreadful that stuff, it doesn’t hold a candle to Haig - and at some point Melanie is coming closer and closer, standing right in front of him, sliding her hands up his arms. She has big, dark eyes and she looks up at him, a sly smile on her lips and Phil takes a last swig of whiskey before he unceremoniously drops the bottle to the floor and swoops down to kiss her.

 

Their kisses are frantic and greedy, open-mouthed and with a lot of tongue. She pulls his shirt out of his pants and he drags his hand through her hair and they stumble and moan and Phil feels himself get hard. (Which is good. For a second there he had been worried that the alcohol might mess with his ability to perform or something.)

They are losing clothes left and right, panting and groaning, touching each other until Mel’s legs hit the bed and she puts her hands on his chest from going any further.

„Do you want to stop?“, he asks, breathing hard. He would end up with blue balls but of course he doesn’t want to push her into anything. If she has doubts, he will leave.

She looks up at him, her lips twisted into a challenging grin. He loses his briefs first and then she pulls his undershirt over his head faster than he can react and of course there is a loud gasp when she sees his scar. He doesn't know if it looks worse or better in the light of a single bedside lamp. Her eyes are wide as she looks up at him, her mouth open in shock, before she looks away.

"I'm sorry", he says, clamping one hand over his chest. "It looks pretty gruesome, I know."

"It's not so bad", Mel says. She lifts her head, keeps her eyes on his face. You would think that as a doctor she has seen her fair share of wounds and scars. Melinda didn't have a problem with his scar. She kissed it, traced it with her finger and her lips, told him that it's a part of him, that he doesn't have to be ashamed of it. She...don't think about Melinda.

A growl escapes him and he turns Mel around so her back is facing him, so she doesn’t have to look at his scar and so her ass is pressed against his erection. He groans and Mel giggles softly and he rubs himself against her. She reaches between her legs, rubs herself through the fabric of her panties, before she climbs onto the bed on all fours, swaying hips, looking over her shoulder at him with a lascivious bat of her lashes. Phil follows her without hesitation.

„Condom“, he rasps, because he cannot risk to catch anything, even if she’s a doctor and it’s highly unlikely. He doesn’t want to have to tell Melinda that he might have  herpes or explain to Simmons why he has an STD. Mel turns and kisses his throat before she reaches over the edge of the bed and pulls a whole package from the nightstand. Maybe he should be concerned that she has so many ready in a hotel room she's only staying in for a few nights, far away from home but at the moment he cannot care less. He fumbles with the package, rips it open and puts the condom on, before he aligns his cock with her entrance and easily slides inside her. He runs his fingers over her back, her shoulderblades, her spine and he feels her shiver, hears her sigh and moan. This is good. He slides in and out, tries to focus on how she feels around his cock, how tight, how hot. This is good. It is good, isn't it? There are voices in his head, distracting him, pictures that his brain supplies through the hazy fog of his drunken stupor. Pictures of shower tiles and black dresses and...focus on the task, Phil. He grips Mel's hips and speeds up, faster, deeper. He hears Mel groan and moan and keen and he likes the sound, her dark hair, sticking to her temples, her eyes glistening as she turns her head and looks at him. His vision is slightly fuzzy but who cares when she says his name, panting, laughing in what he hopes is ecstasy and pleasure, hears her mumble how good he feels and how hot he is and he is happy, even though he cannot see her face very clearly between the strands of dark hair anymore it doesn't matter because he knows how she looks like, his Mel, knows every detail of her face, has known for years. She says his name, tells him that she is close and that he mustn't stop and that only fuels him, reaches around her and places one hand on her clit, just like he knows she likes it. She comes with a scream and he feels her tighten around him and that throws him over the edge.

They lie next to each other, panting and she sighs before she reaches over and switches off the lights. His head is fuzzy, even fuzzier than before and he feels relaxed and there is nothing wrong here, even though there is a nagging in the back of his head but he cannot figure out what it is. Not that he wants to. He feels good. He feels light. Somebody drapes a blanket over him and a warm body snuggles up to his side and he tugs it closer. Somebody chuckles, maybe him, and the last happy sigh that leaves his lips before he drifts off is "Melinda."

 

There is sunlight tickling his nose and a warm body pressed against him, an arm and a leg draped over him. His head is pounding for some reason, his throat feels like sandpaper and his memories are little hazy but he feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth because Melinda May is curled up in his arms and he is happy. He is so happy he could burst because he finally...There is a loud bang and the door cracks open.

Phil shoots up and grabs for his gun on the nightstand...which isn't there. Obviously. Because he is not back at the base and he is not in his room and Melinda is not lying next to him because - because she is standing right there, in the door, a gun pointed at him, surprise on her face.

Daisy is right behind her, also armed, and rears back when she sees him.

A loud "Eeewwwww" is echoing through the room.

Daisy is turning away, shielding her eyes and flees the room. Melinda is still standing there, her weapon raised.

Her face betrays nothing. He doesn’t know what he had expected, a flash of hurt maybe, some emotion, _any_ emotion. But after the initial surprise her features are schooled into a blank mask. And Melinda suddenly bursting into his hotel room and catching him with a strange woman draped over him is certainly the last thing he ever would have expected, anyway. His memories are still so hazy. So he just stares at her, with big eyes, while the strange woman in his bed covers herself up with the white bedsheet, obviously confused and terrified. 

Melinda tucks away her gun. She doesn't look at him, maybe to give him some kind of dignity. He appreciates it. Since he is sitting on the bed, naked as the day he was born, all his bits on display. But then again, he is ready to throw his dignity out the window. He messed up. He _royally_ messed up. He doesn't know what to say but if Melinda thinks...Melinda will think...oh, God.

He feels dirty all of a sudden. He shouldn't but he feels so damn dirty. He feels like he has cheated on the love of his life on a whim, which he has if he is being honest here. God, what has he done? _What has he done?_ He looks at the woman in the bed next to him, who stares at Melinda and then back at him. He doesn't even remember her name. What does that say about him? He only remembers Melinda. Oh, God. 

 

* * *

 

It shouldn’t hurt like this.

Melinda takes care not to look at the woman in Phil’s bed. She doesn’t want to see who he so obviously prefers to her, whose hands have touched him last night, whose lips have kissed him.

She doesn’t look at Phil either, who sits at the end of the bed, a sheet wrapped around his midsection, his face and neck colored scarlet with embarrassment. She instead focuses on the bottle of cheap whisky that lays on the floor, almost empty and some of the liquid staining the carpet. Melinda keeps her body upright, hands clasped behind her back, feet firmly planted on the lush carpet.

„You missed an early meeting this morning.“

It takes enormous effort to pry her teeth apart.

„You are the most important person on base, you can’t just disappear on us. The team was worried.“

The team. Daisy who had frantically typed into her laptop, trying to tag Phil’s phone which he had (stupidly) left behind on his nightstand. Simmons who had shooed Fitz through the lab to pack up whatever first-aid kits she might need in case Phil had been in some kind of accident that acquired medical attention. Trip who had armed himself and rallied some junior agents for security sweep of the whole base. They had been so worried. And Melinda. Melinda had been wrecking her brain, looked for clues in Phil’s bedroom, put the fear of God into young agents until somebody could confirm that they had seen the Director leave around nine last night. She had wondered what it could have been that had made him break protocol and leave base without informing anyone, why he hadn’t come to her if there had been anything to be concerned about. She wasn’t worried. She was terrified. She had obsessed over the idea that those intimate moments they had shared on the last mission had somehow damaged their working relationship, or worse, their friendship. That he had somehow caught on how she really felt about him, avoiding her to let her get a grip again. She had been distracted by the memories of his hands on her body, his tongue licking her skin, his fingers inside her, pumping in and out, how he had felt under her, on top of her, behind her in that shower. She had been scared of the thought of losing Phil, Phil being out there somewhere, hurt, captured. She imagined him beaten up by Hydra and it had made her throat constrict and she had snapped at Daisy and Fitzsimmons and couldn't even feel bad about it. It had taken so much precious time, several hours to find the hotel, she hadn't waited for them to confirm anything, just kicked in the door of the room where Phil was held captive and...it is not what she had imagined. God, maybe she is being melodramatic but this is so much worse. And she doesn't even have a right to feel this way. She has to get out of here.

„We’ll see you back at the base. Sir.“

The _sir_ pushed in after to show him that she understands. That she is not overstepping his boundaries, that she knows her place, that she understands that those nights and days and afternoons on the last mission had meant nothing special. That it had been adrenaline and neediness and horniness and maybe some loneliness. She understands. She _gets_ it. Still. It shouldn’t hurt like this. Her heart should not feel like a thousand tiny shards cutting her open from the inside, a million wounds, like she is bleeding inside, like drowning. He can do what he wants. He can sleep with whomever he wants. He doesn’t belong to her. They have no strings. What they have is nothing but a strong friendship. She doesn’t need anything else. Nothing more. If she repeats it often enough, maybe she will believe it too.

 

Back at the base she still wants to trash her room. Rip the sheets, throw her water glass against the wall, stomp on the nightstand until it’s nothing but splinters, gut her mattress with a knife. She wants to scream. But that would be such a teenage thing to do and they don’t have enough funds to replace all the stuff just because she is throwing a tantrum.

It’s just…if he can go out, meet with other women, if this is not about Audrey anymore, if he doesn’t miss her anymore, like she had thought…then maybe she was only another step on his way to healing. Maybe what they had done with each other, what they had done _to_ each other had meant nothing to him. It feels like a kick in the stomach. It makes her want to throw up. She has always thought she knew him better than that. Has thought she knows how he works, how he needs an emotional connection to sleep with somebody, that he needs truth and trust. That he slept with her in the past because he was turned on by _her_ , because he wanted _her_ , at least a little bit. Seems like she was wrong. So very wrong. He has already found someone else he spends the whole night with. Someone who is allowed to lie in his arms. Someone who is allowed to sleep next to him without any reservations. Someone who isn't her.

 

There is a knock on her door. She knows who it is and still she opens.

Phil is standing in front of her door. His hair is wet and he wears his suit like an armor. His face looks pale and there are deep circles under his eyes.

She wants his arms around her. She wants to undress him and show him exactly what she had been thinking about when she was lying awake last night, trying to be good, not going to him, not pushing it.

She wants to retreat into the farthest corner of her room and have as much distance as possible. She wants to be far away.

He just stands in the doorway, not looking at her, worrying his lower lip.

"I wanted to talk to you", he says and she raises an eyebrow and lets him fidget a little more before stepping back and letting him in. She shouldn't. But they will have to have this conversation at some point and it's probably best if she treats it like a band-aid. Just rip it off and get it over with.

His eyes dart around the room, he licks his lips, balls his fist, bends his head. He looks so guilty and embarrassed.

"I got very drunk last night", he whispers.

Yeah, she figured. Melinda tilts her head. He is under a lot of stress lately with the new position and rebuilding SHIELD and all. Still, he could have come to her. But he didn't. He didn't choose her.

„I’m sorry“, he says and finally lifts his head and she feels her eyes prickling. She isn't even sure what he is apologizing for but she doesn't want to drag this out any longer. Melinda takes a deep breath. Time to get it over with.

„I’m sorry for interrupting your little time off and for scaring your date. She looked nice. I’m sure you can patch it up with her somehow.“

The words are like acid on her tongue, burning her. The thing is...a part of her means it, wants him happy at any cost, while another part (and that one is bigger somehow) wants to throw herself at him, pound her fists against his chest, tell him how much she is hurting, how much he hurt her. But who is she kidding, really?

Phil meanwhile stares at her, looking slightly panicked.

„She didn’t mean anything to me, she didn’t mean anything.“

What? Melinda throws him a look, desperately trying to get her suddenly spiked heartbeat under control. God, she wants this to be over. If this drags on any longer, she knows she will definitely break down and tell him how much she loves him and then where will they be.

„You don’t have to explain anything, Phil“, she says instead, trying to keep her voice even. „No strings, remember?“

Still he grabs her hand and she doesn’t have the strength to pull away. She is so tired all of a sudden.

„Please, Melinda, _please_! I just…“

He sighs and runs his thumb over her knuckles. His shoulders slump, he doesn’t look at her.

„I imagined you“, he mumbles and Melinda forgets how to breathe.

„When I was with her. I saw you“, he continues, „It's always you…“

He sighs and places his hands on her upper arms. The touch makes Melinda shiver.

"I tried not to. I know, you don't want any strings and everything but I just want you to know - nobody ever compares to you."

He lets go of her and turns around to leave.

Melinda stands there in the middle of the room, stock-still. Her thoughts are a jumbled mess, she doesn't know, doesn't know anything.

"Why did you leave the base?"

She hates how hoarse her voice sounds.

He turns around, a sad smile on his face and shrugs.

"I just wanted to...not-feel for a while."

"Don't feel what?" She feels breathless but she senses in her bones that this is important. Phil doesn't look at her. He slumps a little more, if that's even possible.

"I just wanted to stop loving you for a bit."

He says it so quietly, she almost misses it. But then there is a rush going through Melinda. She feels hot and cold all of a sudden, shivers, trembles. It's like all the shards of her broken heart are smashed back together again and it's beating almost painfully inside her chest. Phil is moving again, his hand on the doorhandle, when Melinda reaches him, grabs what she can reach - front of his shirt, his tie - and yanks him back. A button pops off his shirt but she doesn't care, doesn't feel bad about it at all when she pulls him down to her and seals his lips with a searing kiss.

She pours everything into this kiss. She hopes he feels it, feels her desperation and her love and her hunger and all those emotions she has bottled up inside so he doesn't see, doesn't leave, but maybe she doesn't have to. She's taking a chance.

She pushes him against the door, rids him of his tie, his suit jacket. He snakes his arms around her back, presses her against him, kissing her eagerly, kissing her back. Melinda opens his belt, takes off his shirt, places an openmouthed kiss on the scar on his chest just because she can and suddenly he stops short at unbuttoning her pants and looks at her, before he bends down and kisses her deeply.

 

Phil smells like he has bathed in a tub full of that shower gel Daisy had given him as a joke some time ago - Tahitian Sunrise. It smells like coconut and pineapple and Melinda nips playfully at his shoulder to test if he tastes like it too. He places his hands on her hips and pulls her against him, strokes her hipbone with his thumb and looks down at her with so much feeling, it makes her knees weak.

„So much better“, he murmurs as he presses little kisses on the side of her neck, „so much better.“

She would lie if she denied that she feels a certain amount of satisfaction at those words.

They are getting rid of shoes and socks and pants and shirts and Melinda grabs Phil's shoulders and wraps her legs around him.

His cock is erect in his briefs and hits her at a very sensitive spot and Melinda moans and arches her back, so she can rub herself against him and so he can kiss her chest, down her breastbone and rub his nose against the fabric of her bra.

"Do you want to use a condom?", he gasps as she bends forward and scrapes her teeth over his collarbone. "Because I used one with her, so I'm totally clean but if you'd rather..."

She cuts him off with a kiss. She doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't want to know anything about what he did with that other woman. He is hers. Just tonight he is hers and maybe tomorrow too and the day after and the day after that. She could have a future with him,  if only she manages to spill the truth, to close her eyes and jump. Hers, not anybody else's. A faint growl escapes her and she lets go of him, pulls away from him while he looks at her with wide eyes.

"My name", she whispers, holding his gaze and stepping out of her underwear, "say my name."

He comes after her, stands in front of her, his look unsure and his penis very prettily on display.

"Melinda", he breathes. "Melinda, Melinda, Melinda."

She smiles and grabs his arm. She pulls Phil close, before taking him into her hand, stroking his shaft up and down and up and down, while Phil groans and gasps her name, again and again, until it's nothing more than a unintelligible babble and still the most beautiful thing she has ever heard.

„Close“, he rasps, his hands everywhere on her body, touching, caressing, and that’s the moment when she lets go of him and he moans in loss, his eyes wide, his lips chasing hers. Melinda smirks, yanks him forward and pushes him onto her bed. She straddles him a second later, basking in his surprised look and rubs his tip over her clitoris, sighing, moaning, wants to draw this out as long as she can. He is hers. She wants him. Oh, she wants him inside her but still she wants to take her time.

“Do you want me?”, she whispers and Phil hisses, closes his eyes and places his hands on the sheets next to her thighs.

“Only you”, he gasps, gripping the bedsheets as she slides her folds over his erection.

“I just want you. Nobody else, ever. Just you. Melinda. _Melinda_!”

Phil whines, tries to sit up but Melinda presses his shoulders down into the sheets and kisses him, their tongues touching, distracting him while she lines up his cock with her entrance. She slides onto him, slowly, so slowly and they gasp in unison.

„You feel so good.“

She rides him slowly, rolling her hips, her knees digging into the mattress. He fills her out so perfectly. No man has ever felt like Phil, no man has ever looked at her like Phil does now, nobody has ever touched her like he does, nobody makes her feel like this.

„You are so beautiful“, he says with a little gasp, reaching up to pull her down for a kiss, her hair fanning over their faces like a curtain. „You are the only one…“

He sighs and Melinda speeds up. Yes. She pants and stretches herself, grabs Phil’s hand and puts his fingers on her clit. _Yes_! He applies just the right pressure, moves his fingers just right and Melinda feels the heat building and building until the orgasm washes over her and she comes screaming Phil’s name.

Phil sits up and wraps his arms around her, his hips bucking up against her, once, twice, before he spills himself inside her, squeezing her tightly, moaning into her shoulder. Her name on his lips. It’s all she wanted.

He sinks back into the sheets, Melinda still on top of him. She looks down on him, meets his gaze and God, she loves him. And maybe the recent orgasm has just torn down all her defenses, maybe her mind is too foggy and blocks out all the insecurity and fear. Phil is still inside her but the three words just fall from her lips.

„I love you.“

It’s a whisper but it’s loud enough for Phil to hear. His eyes go wide and he rushes to sit up, almost shoving her off his lap and takes her face in both his hands.

„You do?“

There is so much hope in his eyes and his voice and who the fuck cares where he has spent last night.

„I do.“

She doesn’t say it any louder than before, breathes it more than says it but Phil’s face is split in the most enormous grin and he kisses her right on the mouth before he starts peppering her face with kisses. Even if he didn’t say „I love you“ after every single kiss, laughing, she would have been inclined to believe it.

 

They lay down next to each other on Melinda’s bed, Phil on his back, one arm around her, the other slung over her waist, Melinda resting her head on his shoulder and comfortably curled around him. And maybe they should be thinking about cleaning themselves up. Maybe they should be thinking how it’s only three in the afternoon and how they have meetings and Hydra to deal with and what will happen if Daisy comes looking for them.

They have a blanket pulled over them and Melinda rubs her cheek against his shoulder, closing her eyes. Phil looks down at her and kisses her head, feeling utterly blissful. And the last happy sigh that leaves Phil’s lips before he drifts off is "Melinda."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, what do you think? Should I never write smut again? I feel like I need some more practice. Anyway, comments and kudos are always appreciated. <3


End file.
